Bestselling author Sherry Harris gives us the latest in a new cozy mystery series featuring a bartender sleuth in the tiny town of Emerald Cove, Florida.
Chloe Jackson runs a saloon in Emerald Cove, Florida—and she also happens to be an expert at putting people behind bars . . .
LAST CALL
The Florida Panhandle Barback Games are coming up and Chloe’s been drafted to represent the Sea Glass Saloon—competing in various obstacle-course events that conclude with rolling an empty keg up a hill. The rivalries are so fierce that some of the participating bars even stoop to bringing in ringers.
Meanwhile, Chloe’s friend Ann—a descendant of the famed pirate Jean Lafitte—asks her to come along for a boat ride as Ann dives into the Gulf of Mexico. She’s found some old papers that may identify the location of sunken treasure. Instead, she finds a sunken body—of one of the ringers hired for the Barback Games. Now that murder is in the mix, Chloe has to figure out whether one of the competitors went overboard . . .
Have you ever walked into work to find your boss and coworker staring at you with overeager expressions? Me either—until today and I immediately realized something was up. It wasn’t just their expressions, but the fact that they were both here before me. That was highly unusual. I’d found, since I’d moved to Emerald Cove, Florida, that unusual was rarely good.
Joaquín Diaz, head bartender, and Vivi Slidell, my business partner and boss, both stood behind the bar in the Sea Glass Saloon. The looks on their faces reminded me of my nieces and nephews when they knew they were in trouble but hoped they weren’t. I was tempted to walk right back out into the April sunshine and return tomorrow. However, knowing Joaquín and Vivi the way I did, I figured they’d just follow me out. So whatever was up with them, I might as well just stay and find out.
“What?” I asked as I stowed my purse under the bar. Although the Sea Glass was called a saloon, it was more tiki hut. Its wooden walls were dotted with vintage photographs and signs. The concrete floors made it easy to sweep the sand out at the end of the day. The south side of the bar faced the Gulf of Mexico, and the entire wall was sliding glass doors that could be pushed back to open to the deck. Almost every day, I looked out at the water and told myself, Chloe Jackson, you live in paradise. Although right now, I was afraid my day was going to be more like the Hardy Boys book Trouble in Paradise.
“What do you mean by ‘what’?” Joaquín asked. His eyes sparkled, making them match the emerald color of the water along this stretch of the Florida Panhandle. His Hawaiian shirt was the same emerald green and had a giant flamingo on it.
Mr. Innocent. “I can tell something is up with you two. Just tell me so we can get this place open for the day.”
“We haven’t won for four years,” Vivi said, emphasizing the “four years” with head nods that made her sleek silver bob brush her slim shoulders. You’d never know the woman was in her seventies. She could be a model if she wanted to.
“And you’re perfect for it.” Joaquín raised his beautifully groomed eyebrows at me. His dark hair was wind-tousled. Probably because he’d just gotten back from his morning of fishing.
“So we signed you up,” Vivi said.
“Because we knew you’d say yes,” Joaquín added.
“The deadline was nine this morning. And like Joaquín said, we were sure you’d agree.”
“You wouldn’t let us down.” Joaquín’s face had moved to a “pleading for a treat” expression of a three-year-old.
My eyes were starting to ache from darting back and forth as first one spoke and then the other. “What did you sign me up for, that I’m perfect for, and you knew I’d say yes to?” My voice was a tad bit impatient. Maybe they’d signed me up for bartending school, although that would be a bit of a surprise, because my drink-making skills had grown by leaps and bounds since I’d started working here ten months ago.
“The annual Florida Panhandle Barback Games,” Vivi said.
I swear, they both took a step back like they expected an explosion, which was weird, because I didn’t normally have a temper. Although all of this might bring one on or, at the very least, bring on a headache. Instead, I raised an eyebrow—well, both eyebrows. I’d never managed to raise just one, even though I’d practiced in front of a mirror when I was a teenager. “Annual. Barback. Games.”
They both nodded. Being the barback was part of my job. A barback did a lot of the prep work for the bartender, like cutting fruit; making sure liquor, or spirits as Joaquín called them, were stocked; making sure glassware was clean and readily available; anything that would assist the bartender and make their job easier.
“Why haven’t I heard anything about this before?”
“You moved down after the games last year. We do it at the end of spring break season and before the busy summer season,” Vivi said.
“Before it gets too hot and humid,” Joaquín added.
“Why don’t you do it, Joaquín?” I asked.
“He won four years ago, and you can only enter every five years,” Vivi said.
“What does the competition entail?” I asked. My eyes were narrowing. My voice sounded wary. Bolting became a very real possibility.
“It’s an obstacle course,” Vivi said.
“Easy stuff,” Joaquín said.
Obstacle course. Are you kidding me? “Like what?” I asked. I knew I’d cave and say yes, but I might as well make them suffer a bit for not consulting me first.
“Carrying three full beer mugs in each hand while running through tires,” Joaquín said. “Fastest time with the least spillage wins the round.”
Oh, yeah, like that sounded easy. I was going to need a round of drinks just listening to all of this.
“Fruit chopping,” Vivi offered.
That sounded too easy. “What’s the catch?” I asked.
“You have to stand on one leg,” Vivi said.
My mouth dropped open. People with sharp knives standing on one leg? I started picturing all kinds of disasters, most of which ended up with me bleeding.
“Sorting vodka brands from least to most expensive. No catch on that one,” Joaquín said.
“Running a tray of drinks from one station to another without spilling.” Vivi watched me carefully, as if trying to gauge what my answer would be.
“Creating a drink from mystery ingredients,” Joaquín said. “Don’t worry, I’ll train you.”
As if that was all I had to worry about.
“And then rolling an empty keg up a hill to the finish line.” Vivi put her hands up in a see how easy that will be? gesture.
“What’s the catch? I have to roll it with my nose? Do it blindfolded? Feet tied together?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
They both actually sounded indignant. I almost laughed. “What’s in it for me?”
“The glory,” Vivi said.
“A cool trophy that you get to keep forever,” Joaquín said.
“It brings in more business, which means more money for all of us,” Vivi said. “In fact, that starts as soon as the competitors are announced, because everyone wants to size up the competition.”
I needed training? What was that about? “When is the competition?” How much time did I have to prepare? Or quit and hightail it back to my hometown of Chicago to avoid catastrophic embarrassment? There were plenty of bars there. It should be easy to find a new job, or maybe by now, the Chicago Public Library system was hiring again, and I could return to my old job of children’s librarian.
“It’s ten days from now,” Joaquín said. “Plenty of time.”
Only ten days? I did a mental grimace. How could I say no? “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Great.”
“Excellent,” Vivi said.
“So who is the competition?” I asked. I was thinking of the bar Two Bobs just down the walkway that ran the length of the small harbor. “All of the staff at Two Bobs look pretty young and fit.”
“Did you bring the dossier?” Joaquín asked Vivi.
“Dossier? What have you gotten me into?” I asked.
“It’s in the office,” Vivi said, not answering my question.
“Why is there a dossier?” I asked seconds later, when we were all seated in Vivi’s office. Joaquín and I sat across from Vivi. We faced a beautiful painting of the Gulf of Mexico.
“Some of the bars bring in ringers,” Joaquín said casually, like it was no big deal.
“Ringers?”
“Professional athletes.” Vivi reached into her gold designer handbag and pulled out a manila folder. She put on a pair of reading glasses and, with pursed lips, opened the folder.
“Professional? Athletes?” Good grief. I kept repeating what they’d just said. “I thought this was just local people who worked in the bar already.”
“Any competitors have to work in the bar they are representing for at least thirty days.”
Vivi withdrew three eight-by-ten photos from the manila folder and placed them in front of me. All of the photos looked like they’d been taken with a telephoto lens without the subject’s knowledge. I’ll bet Ann Williams had something to do with these photos. Ann was known locally as a fixer, and I knew Vivi relied on her when she needed help with something.
Vivi tapped the photo on the left. It was a muscular Black man. Shaved head, hands so large the rocks glass in his hand looked like a shot glass, and a smile that would melt ice cubes. I felt a little warm just looking at him.
Vivi pulled out a piece of paper. “This is Jean Claude LaPierre. He’s representing Sandy’s in Dune Allen. Olympic gold medalist in the shot put. Six-two, from Des Moines, Iowa. Darling of the reality TV show circuit. He’s danced with stars, cooked on the Food Network, and had his heart broken as runner-up on The Bachelorette.”
“I can’t compete with that.” I gestured toward the photo, a bit of panic in my voice.
“Achilles’ heel is that he can’t run fast. That’s no worry for you, Chloe,” Vivi said, looking over her glasses at me.
Oh, gee, that made me feel sooo much better. While I did run every day, one of his strides was probably three of mine.
Joaquín tapped on the middle picture as Vivi handed him a piece of paper from her folder. This picture showed a woman with inch-long hair and brightly painted nails. Tough-looking, but not in a mean way. And stunningly beautiful. “Lisa Kelley. Retired Hollywood stuntwoman. Semi-finalist in American Ninja Warrior. Gray’s Tavern in Grayton Beach signed her up.”
“Does she look kind of familiar?” I asked.
Joaquín looked uncomfortable. That couldn’t be good.
“Spit it out,” I said.
“She was Gal Gadot’s stuntwoman.”
“Wonder Woman? I can’t compete with Wonder Woman.” It was more of a wail than a statement.
“Of course you can,” Vivi said. She flicked her hand like she was flicking away my worries.
“What’s her Achilles’ heel?” I asked.
“None that we know of,” Joaquín answered.
I don’t know what kind of expression I made, but Joaquín and Vivi both looked alarmed.
“Yet,” Vivi added hastily, “I’m sure she has one.”
“If she’s retired, maybe she has some kind of injury that will slow her up,” Joaquín said.
“And she hasn’t worked in a bar as long as you have,” Vivi added.
Yeah, right. I was doomed to disappoint.
Vivi tapped a pink fingernail on the last photo. This guy was running out of the water with a surfboard under his arm. Long, flowing sun-streaked hair suitable for the cover of a romance novel. High cheekbones. Full lips. Long, lean body. Abs that were so defined his picture probably appeared next to “washboard” in the dictionary.
“So a surfer dude.” Maybe I could take a surfer dude and not come in last.
Vivi took another piece of paper out of the manila folder. She pursed her lips again while she perused the document. Surely she’d already read this, so why was she procrastinating?
“Champion surfer Enrique Laurier. Now working at Two Bobs. Also a world-renowned triathlete.”
“Come on. I don’t have a chance. Where did they find these people? Why don’t we find someone? Surely one of us must know someone.”
“It’s too late. Like we said, registration closed this morning. The contest is in ten days,” Vivi said. “Besides, we don’t have to cheat to win.”
“So you couldn’t hire someone?” I asked.
“They fell through,” Vivi admitted.
“Ha. So does Enrique have any known problems that might help me win?”
“He’s a bit of a lothario,” Vivi said.
Joaquín choked back a laugh.
Lothario? Who used that term anymore? “So he likes his women? How does that stop him?”
“Well, if he was worn out the night before the event, it might help.” Vivi grinned.
I smacked my forehead. This was too much information. “Are you suggesting that I—”
Vivi’s face turned bright red. “No. Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. At all. Never. Not you, anyway. Maybe someone willing who likes him, though.” Vivi paused. “Everything I’m saying is making this worse. Right?”
“Most of it,” I replied.
“So your mission today—” Vivi said.
“If I choose to accept it,” I quipped.
“Is to go to those three bars and chat up Jean Claude, Lisa, and Enrique,” Vivi said.
This situation just kept getting better and better. “I have to work.”
“That’s why I’m here. To fill in for you,” Vivi said. “The more information you can gather, the better we will know how you need to train. Just flirt a little.”
Really? “Rip won’t like that,” I said. Rip Barnett was my boyfriend. Vivi wasn’t a fan, although she was coming around.
“Be your vivacious self then. You always charm our customers,” Vivi said.
I pinked a little at that. Vivi wasn’t one to give a lot of compliments.
“Just call Rip and explain the situation. He’ll understand,” Vivi said.
I looked at Joaquín, hoping for back up. He shrugged. Traitor. I guess they both really wanted that trophy. “Are there only four of us?”
“No,” Vivi said. “There are others, locals, but you could take them blindfolded.”
“Won’t they know what I’m up to if I try to go check them out?” I asked.
“The list hasn’t been announced yet,” Vivi said.
“Then how did you . . . oh, never mind.” Vivi had gotten the information, and she wasn’t about to tell me how. Ann Williams. Had to be. I was going to try to track her down before I started on this crazy journey.
We all stood and walked back into the bar.
“Why don’t I just chop the fruit at least?” I asked.
“No, no.” Vivi shook her head. “You just go home, get ready, and chat up your opponents.”
I looked down at my polo shirt and khaki capri leggings. I guess she didn’t think I was dressed for success. “Okay, whatever. I’ll report back later.”
It was 11:30 by the time I’d gotten home, fixed my short brown hair by slicking it back with some gel and tucking it behind my ears, and then put on a ton of makeup. My eyes were smoky, my lips full with a dark red lipstick I rarely used, and I’d added fake eyelashes. My widow’s peak was more pronounced with my hair like this, and I was afraid my look was tilting toward vampire instead of sexy. I put on a flirty little sundress. Good thing it was warm out today.
Once I was ready, I tried calling Ann Williams to talk to her about the competition. She didn’t answer. I took a deep breath and called Rip. We’d been seeing each other steadily since January, but were taking things slow. Some days I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or upset that he didn’t seem to want to rush into anything, either. Things were good between us, and I hoped this call didn’t upset the basket or anything else.
After we said our hellos, I plunged into my conversation with Vivi and Joaquín, repeating as much as I could verbatim. There was a long silence, and my stomach started to swish around with dread.
“Do you want to do all this?” Rip finally asked. “You’d be great at it.”
I thought for a moment. I weighed making a fool of myself against making Vivi and Joaquín happy. While I didn’t like how they’d roped me into this, it did sound kind of fun, and I had a competitive streak. “I guess so. Yes. It will be interesting.”
“Then go get them, and let me know if you need back up or a ride.”
My heart melted a little. I couldn’t believe I was seeing this amazing man after a really horrible engagement that had ended badly. “Thank you.”
“And Chloe,” Rip said.
“Yes.”
“You’re my Wonder Woman.” The line disconnected.
I fanned myself a little while I stared at the phone, smiling like a goofball. I ate an early lunch. Day drinking and I didn’t always get along, so a full stomach seemed like a good idea.
When I couldn’t procrastinate any longer, I walked outside. A shiny black truck that I didn’t recognize was parked in my driveway, blocking my car. I took a step back. There’d been three murders since I’d moved here, and I’d become more cautious. More scared. I plunged my hand into my purse and started digging for my phone. A man climbed out. Ah, he worked for Ann Williams. He picked Ann and me up last October, but what was he doing here?
He was a big, burly guy. Clean-shaven and wearing a khaki-colored button-down shirt, but the sleeves had been cut out. He wore loose-fitting jeans that he hitched up as he walked toward me. He had pretty brown eyes.
“Ann thought you might like a ride so you didn’t have to worry about drinking and driving.”
Well, that confirmed that Ann was involved in all of this. I wasn’t too surprised, but what was her interest in the whole thing? It seemed outside the realm of my idea of what a fixer would do. But then again, what did I really know about what the job title of “fixer” entailed?
“Thanks,” I said. Beats using a rideshare app.
“Where to?” he asked when we were buckled into the truck. The seats were luxurious—rich leather that almost molded to my body.
“Let’s go to Gray’s Tavern first. It’s the farthest east, and we can work our way back.” Grayton Beach was a small town east on 30A. Gray’s Tavern wasn’t as popular as the Red Bar and wasn’t as nice, from what I’d heard.
He started the truck, and it purred like a contented cat. I only wished I felt the same. I was more like the cat on the proverbial hot tin roof.
We’d driven a couple of minutes in what felt like an awkward silence. As far as I could tell, he had the advantage of knowing who I was, while all I knew was that he was somehow associated with Ann.
“What’s your name?” That seemed like a fair question. If he was going to drive me all around, I couldn’t say “hey you” all afternoon.
“They call me Dex.”
“Is that your real name?” There were some unusual names down here, but something about his use of they call me led me to believe his name was something else.
He cut his eyes towards me for a moment before refocusing on the road. “Poindexter.” Dex shook his head. “I have no idea why I told you that. Ann’s one of the few people who knows.”
Ann knew everything, and there’s no way she’d hire someone whose background she hadn’t thoroughly checked out. At least that was my impression of her. Ann took risks but in a cautious, careful way. “My lips are sealed.”
Dex gave a quick nod.
“Did you grow up around here?” I asked.
“Nope.”
Chatty. Dex turned up a jazz station loud enough that it ended my attempts at conversation. I guess he was a “one confession per trip” kind of guy. I was fine with that. No, I really wasn’t, because now I had to focus on how to approach Wonder Woman.
Fifteen minutes later, I stood just inside the entrance to Gray’s Tavern, scanning the room to get a feel for the place. Dex had declined to join me but had given me his cell phone number in case I needed anything. I couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or if he felt like I was going to get into some kind of trouble. Great. Just when I needed a boost of confidence.
The bar wasn’t all that different than the Sea Glass, with its weathered walls and an easy-to-clean concrete floor. The wa. . .
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